


Cold As The Grave

by Oricalle



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Book 2 Spoilers, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Hel!Gunnthra, Inspired by Fanart, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:41:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28875855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oricalle/pseuds/Oricalle
Summary: During the attack on Hel's domain, Fjorm discovers a foe she never expected.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 14





	Cold As The Grave

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Gunnthra Fanart](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/746019) by Sylph. 



As she sprinted up the rugged hill, her breaths haggard and her heart weighing heavy in her chest, it took every bit of energy Fjorm had to stay upright.

_Steady, now. They’re counting on you._

She planted Leiptr in the hilltop grass, leaning on the lance’s hilt as she surveyed the battlefield. Down below, she could see the stone fortress that housed a portal to Hel’s realm, along with the armies that clashed in front of it. Askr’s banner waved high above the Order of Heroes’ main force, as Fjorm watched her friends and allies rush into battle against Hel’s legions of undead.

She could barely make out the forms of a few Heroes, chiefly Prince Alfonse, as he led from the front, sword raised in defense of his homeland. The sight brought her a jolt of energy and adrenaline, memories of the war in Nifl surging to the forefront of her mind.

They had fought for her then, and she would return the favor, despite the way the Rite of Frost still clawed at her heart. As the days went on, the curse on her body only worsened, making every movement a little slower and every breath a little harder.

Anna had shown some concern when she volunteered to help Askr’s knights defend the Order’s flank during this assault, but Fjorm had assured her that she was still up to the task. She had promised the Commander that she would see her duty through, and had no intention of going back on her word.

As she caught her breath, Fjorm surveyed the surrounding forest from her vantage point. There was no sign of the group of missing soldiers she was searching for, but a fallen sword near one of the wooded paths seemed to serve as a clue. As she approached the weapon, lifting it up to inspect it, her brow furrowed in confusion.

The blade was clearly of Askran make, bearing all the ornamentation and symbols common to a weapon used by King Gustav’s knights, but as she held it in her hands, a shiver crept its way down her back.

The sword was cold. Not cool like the earth, or refreshingly chilled like a lake, but _cold_. It was a dry, empty type of cold, as if she’d just put her bare hands on one of Nifl’s icebergs.

Something, clearly, wasn’t right.

With her own weapon at the ready, Fjorm set off down the path near where she’d found the abandoned blade, leaving it stuck in the ground as a warning.

Despite the bright light of day still hanging over the main battlefield, the further Fjorm trekked into the woods that surrounded it, the dimmer her surroundings became. Her every nerve was on edge as she crept through the foliage, listening carefully for more than a crunching leaf or snapped branch.

Aside from the distant sounds of battle, Fjorm could hear nothing out of place.

Her investigation lead her at last to a clearing, and as she stepped into it, she smiled. There, standing before her, was the group of missing knights, all four of them still on their feet. Quickly, she jogged to meet them, finally dropping her guard.

“You’re alright! Thank goodness!”

To her surprise, the soldiers didn’t respond, nor even do so much as turn to meet her. In fact, they didn’t even move at all. Goosebumps prickled up across her arms as she continued to approach, confusion writ large on her face. She reached forward to tap on the rearmost soldier’s shoulder.

His armor was freezing cold.

Shocked, she swiveled around the man, only to look back into a set of wide eyes.

The knight, _all of the knights,_ seemed to be completely frozen.

“Look out!”

Her battle-honed instincts roared to life as Fjorm quickly ducked, just in time to feel her hair get tousled by the frozen blade that whizzed through the air where her neck was moments ago. Something about the voice felt familiar.

“Who said that?” The Princess of Nifl shifted to a battle stance, her spear extended in the direction the icy projectile had come from. “Show yourself!”

Something rustled in the trees beyond, and as Fjorm watched, a figure entered the clearing. She was clad in orange armor that seemed to move with her, as if attached. A tattered gown clung to her waist, snow-white fabric that had been frayed and charred at the ends. The armor split midway up the woman’s stomach, revealing a translucent blue torso with skeletal structure visible inside.

As their eyes met, Fjorm’s stomach lurched. She would know that face anywhere, and had never thought she would see it again.

“...Gunnthra?”

There could be no mistaking it. Leiptr clattered to the ground as Fjorm made ready to rush to her sister’s side.

“Stay back!”

Gunnthra’s eyes slammed shut as she lurched forward, anguish on her face as she approached. “I’m not in control!”

Fjorm’s heart sank as her mind put all the pieces together. The frozen soldiers, the bizarre appearance, the way her sister seemed to writhe in pain as she slowly ambled closer.

“Hel...she’s using you.”

With a sharp cry of pain, Gunnthra’s arm shot forward, her palm extended. Shards of ice coalesced around her and fired in Fjorm’s direction. The younger princess quickly dodged to the side, yelping with pain as an icicle ricocheted off of her pauldron. Scrambling, she picked up her weapon from the ground, holding it warily.

“No!” As if a dam inside of her had burst, Fjorm felt emotion pounding against her chest. “She can’t...you can’t be...Gunnthra!”

_She could remember it as if it was yesterday._

_Standing before the fortress in Snjarhof, newfound allies at her back as she rallied to her sister’s side._

_Dreams of taking their kingdom back together all that had kept her moving, kept her fighting for weeks on end._

_The horrible shock of seeing Surtr pushing Gunnthra into the snow, her body covered with burns._

_The utter agony of watching her catch fire._

“Fjorm.”

Gunnthra had adopted a somewhat familiar tone. Though her sister was lively and mischievous behind closed doors, she was a trained diplomat, and when it came to addressing the people of Nifl, Gunnthra was all business.

Her timbre was calm, controlled, and firm.

“Fjorm, you have to stop me.”

Like a puppet, one of Gunnthra’s hands jerked upwards, another burst of freezing energy forming within her palm.

“You have to destroy me, Fjorm.”

“What?” All the color drained from Fjorm’s face as she looked on in horror. Suddenly Leiptr felt heavy in her hands.

Slowly, Gunnthra’s hand descended, bringing with it a rain of hail that flew towards Fjorm’s position. She leapt back into the trees, letting a sturdy trunk safeguard her from the jagged chunks of ice.

“You won’t be hurting me. I’m already dead. Please, Fjorm!”

Her voice was tinged with fear, and it shook Fjorm to her core. Not Gunnthra, so gentle and polite, so brave and determined. Not the woman who had given everything for her people, even her life.

Fjorm’s grip tightened on the lance in her hands. Steeling herself, she reemerged into the clearing, Leiptr pointed at her sister’s form.

“I’m coming, Gunnthra!”

She hit the ground running, doing all she could to ignore the pain in her chest and the stinging in her eyes. Gunnthra raised her arms, quickly beginning to cast a spell, but Fjorm knew her sister’s magic well enough to be prepared. 

All of a sudden, she dove forward and rolled, just in time to avoid a wall of pointed ice shards that shot up from the ground. It was the first time she had attempted something so agile since the Rite began taking hold, and her insides seemed to howl in defiance, but she was able to rise to her feet, close enough now to easily see the look on her sister’s face.

Gunnthra was smiling as Leiptr tore through her chest.

As she began to fall, Fjorm was there to catch her, gently lowering her sister’s cold body to the ground.

“Gunnthra? Can you still hear me?” 

Though the blue fluid that seemed to fill her sister’s body was seeping onto the forest floor, Fjorm watched as Gunnthra slowly turned her head to meet her gaze, nodding gently.

“I’m so proud of you, Fjorm. You have always been so strong.”

Tears began to fall from the corners of Fjorm’s eyes.

“Can...can I fix you? Is there any way that I can...anything that I can do?”

To Fjorm’s dismay, Gunnthra shook her head, eyes shut as her hair fell across her sister’s knees.

“Don’t worry about me. Please.”

“Where...where will you go?”

“Somewhere better than here. You saved me, Fjorm.”

_Surtr’s hand clamped on Gunnthra’s shoulder._

_Flames licking at the ends of her headdress_

“No…” Fjorm lowered her head, pressing her forehead to her sister’s. “I was too late to save you!”

“Shhh.” Slowly, Gunnthra’s hand rose, looking far more natural than any of the wild movements forced upon her during their battle, and gently tapped Fjorm on the nose with a finger. “You were just in time, silly bird.”

The use of her childhood pet name triggered a feeling in Fjorm’s brain somewhere between joy and sadness, and she breathed out slowly. “I’ll...I’ll be with you soon, Gunnthra. The Rite-”

“The Rite hasn’t killed you yet.” Gunnthra’s eyes met Fjorm’s, a renewed fire behind them as she spoke. “You’re a warrior, Fjorm. Keep on living, and you can tell me all about it in a good long time, okay?”

Fjorm sniffled. “Okay…” 

She could feel the body in her hands getting lighter, Gunnthra’s form beginning to fade away as they spoke. Her voice, too, became weaker, little more than a whisper as she grasped one of Fjorm’s hands in her own.

“Tell Hrid and Ylgr that I love them, and I’m thinking of you all.”

“I will.” Fjorm replied. Gunnthra’s face softened back into a serene expression.

“Come on, Fjorm. Can’t you show your sister a smile before she goes?”

Despite the tears dripping down her chin, Fjorm shut her eyes, and did all she could to contort her face into a smile. 

By the time she opened them, Gunnthra was gone.

Someday, they would meet again.

**Author's Note:**

> Super Secret Author's Notes:
> 
> \- Don't worry about the frozen soldiers, they'll thaw out and be fine. 
> 
> \- The name "silly bird" used to annoy Fjorm so much when she was a kid, because she was _not silly at all, thank you very much._
> 
> \- The orange armor Gunn is wearing is meant to represent the flame that killed her. Hel thought it would be amusing to turn her burns into armor. (Thanks to Sylph for this very cool and yet also horrifying trivia!)
> 
> \- The Google Drive Placeholder Name for this piece was ":crab: Gunnthra :crab: Is :crab: Dead :crab:"
> 
> Hello, everyone! Thank you so much for reading this fic!
> 
> Yesterday I came across the wonderful fanart Sylph did of a Hel!Gunnthra. I've always loved the designs of Hel's generals in the game proper, and I found her Gunnthra really well done and interesting. It got me thinking about how a potential confrontation with her would have gone in the story proper, and since canon did not deliver us such a thing, I was really inspired to write a short fic about it! I hope that you enjoyed the finished result!
> 
> Sylph has done _even more_ art on this subject, including a Hel!Laegjarn (:eyes: :eyes: :eyes:) and a Hel!Laegjarn and Hel!Gunnthra sharing a smooch. (:eyes: :heart::eyes: :heart::eyes: :heart:) I'd very much recommend checking out their Twitter, which I'll link again here: https://twitter.com/sylphemblem?lang=en
> 
> Special thanks for this one go out to my beta reader, Mal! And thanks again to Sylph for the lovely piece that inspired this!
> 
> If you enjoyed the themes of this fic but would like a happier ending and less Jelly Skeleton, please allow me the self-indulgence of recommending my other Gunnthra-featuring works here, especially "Worth Of A Broken Blade", which depicts a summoned from death Laegjarn and Gunnthra trying to find their way in a world that's already once rejected them. I've been working on it for about a year and a half now, and the final chapter should be posted quite soon!
> 
> Feedback is always very welcome in the comments, and you can find me on Twitter @Oricalle. I hope you have a lovely day!


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